


Snowbound Skirmish

by BeveStuscemi



Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Snowball Fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28342371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeveStuscemi/pseuds/BeveStuscemi
Summary: With the Hamlet in the midst of a particularly snowy winter, Missandei and Margaret are sent out to maintain the pathways.Naturally, they spend more time weaponising the snow rather than sweeping it.
Relationships: Arbalest/Musketeer
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18
Collections: Snowiest Dungeon





	Snowbound Skirmish

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wyrd_eater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyrd_eater/gifts).



Nestled beneath a layer of snow and enveloped by the dusky purple of endless twilight skies, the Hamlet looked picturesque for the first time since Missandei had arrived. The smoking embers from the forge illuminated the narrow footpaths she often traversed, causing the snow to glisten and shine with each dance of the flame. Even the tavern, which looked dilapidated and rickety on a _good_ day, appeared cosy and inviting with soft firelight and occasional raucous laughter.

Missandei sighed wistfully at the sight before digging her shovel back into the sheet of snow covering the path to the Abbey. Behind her, Margaret followed suit, although she voiced her frustrations as she did so.

“We better be getting paid for this!”

Missandei turned to face her. Margaret dithered in her thick overcoat and the tip of her nose was remarkably pinker than it was when they had first started.

Missandei threw her a small smile.

“I doubt it, Meg. The old Caretaker said it was us ‘ _earning our keep’_ or words to that effect.”

“Earning our keep?” Margaret scoffed, “We do enough as it is around here! I just wanted one day where we could lie in bed and do nothing, and that musty old fool comes along to ruin it for us.”

Missandei bit the side of her cheek to prevent herself laughing at Margaret’s unusually tame description of the Caretaker. She was expecting a few more insults, at least.

“Oh well,” Missandei replied, now with regained composure, “I suppose he was acting on the orders of the Heir. There’s no use getting angry at him.”

The Caretaker had arrived at the barracks just before sundown and had been accompanied by some shovels too fragile to be used for expeditions. With a yellowed, crooked grin, he gleefully informed both women that they were to help maintain the Hamlet since the current weather made assignments too perilous to travel to.   
_“You ought to be grateful,”_ he had said, _“The Heir has got some men retiling the tavern. You need some way to earn your keep if you’re not working.”_

When Missandei and Margaret begrudgingly left the barracks to begin sweeping the snow, they had failed to notice anyone atop the tavern’s roof. Missandei assumed the men had been intelligent enough to discard the work and just order a pint instead.

Margaret ploughed back into the ground, scooping up a pile of snow as well as the patch of dirt beneath it.

“It’s still ridiculous that _we’re_ the ones shovelling this snow. I thought the role of the Caretaker was to maintain the Hamlet. Why are we doing his job?”

Margaret continued her tirade when Missandei gave a disinterested shrug.

“Better yet, why doesn’t the Heir help? I haven’t seen them in a while and this is _their_ damned village…”

From beneath her hood, Missandei shook her head in amusement as Margaret’s rant escalated. She loved Margaret with all her heart, but by the Light could she whinge. Even when they lay in bed, with Missandei just upon the cusp of sleep, Margaret could find something to complain about. Naturally, these complaints were usually centred around blanket distribution or the emancipation of Margaret’s hair from beneath Missandei’s elbow.

Musketeering was undoubtedly Margaret’s forte, but her ranting was a definite close second. And once Margaret got going, there really was no peaceful way to stop her.

As Margaret rambled on, Missandei gently lowered her shovel to the ground. Still bent, she carefully gathered snow in her leather-clad hands, suppressing a slight shiver at the sudden chill. Compressing and rolling the snow in her palms, she grinned wickedly as it began to take on a rounder, ball-like shape. Missandei rose to her feet and dug her boot heels into the snow, preparing for the attack.

“Meg!” Missandei’s calling was sickly sweet, a silk curtain hiding steel.

Margaret turned to the call.

“Miss- UGH!”

An ice-cold ball of snow struck her at the side of her face, exploding against her cheek. Margaret stumbled backwards and dropped the shovel, her mouth agape in shock. Missandei burst out into hysterical laughter and clutched her sides as Margaret tried to fathom what had just occurred.

“Did you just throw a snowball at me?” She asked in a tone so incredulous that it only added to Missandei’s hysterics.

“Oh no, absolutely not,” she snorted, “Why would I do something so cruel?”

“Yes, well,” Margaret said, dropping to her knees and gathering her own pile of snow, “Two can play at this game!”

She quickly compressed her snow into a ball and hurled it towards Missandei. Margaret let out a triumphant cheer when the snowball hit her square on the chin. Missandei spluttered, first in shock, then in disgust.

“Eugh! That snow had dirt in it! It got in my mouth as well.”

Missandei flicked the dirt from her tongue, grimacing as she did so. Margaret used the brief distraction to create more icy ammunition. Within seconds, another snowball flew threw the air and hit Missandei on the shoulder.

“That’s cheating; I wasn’t ready!” Missandei ran across towards the Abbey for cover. She ducked behind the wall, her gloved hand gripping the stone for support.

Margaret threw another snowball, though the trajectory was slightly off and hit one of the Abbey’s windows instead. Any consideration for the congregation inside was all but abandoned.

“All’s fair in love and war, Miss!” Margaret called back, diving behind an old tree. A rogue snowball collided with the trunk, narrowly missing Margaret’s back as she rounded it. Margaret laughed before yelling out a childish “Missed me!”

She loved competition.  
She loved to win.

While certainly not as competitive, Missandei was never one to shy away from a challenge. She chuckled to herself and started to roll out another snowball, larger than the previous ones. 

“That one was a warning, Meg!” Missandei peeped out from behind the stone wall, smug smile on her face, “The next one won’t be - Woah!”

Another snowball zipped past her face like a bullet. The lump of snow had enough force behind it to make Missandei fall backwards into the cold ground. Margaret’s cackling laughter rang out into their battlefield, as well as some immature goading.

Missandei sat back up and shook the snow from her hood. She carefully craned her neck out from behind her cover to see Margaret crafting some more snowballs from behind her tree. When she noticed Missandei staring, she stuck out her tongue.

“Got something for you here, Miss!” Margaret threw the snowball into the air and caught it with her opposite hand.

_“Typical Meg,”_ Missandei thought, _“Always one for theatrics.”_

Missandei returned her remark with a mocking laugh, something to really invigorate Margaret’s competitive streak.

“Oh, believe me, Meg. This next snowball I throw is going to put you out of commission for good.”

Missandei grabbed her large snowball and launched it through the air with as much force as she could muster. The snowball flew upwards, nowhere near her target.

Margaret threw her an amused look, one that guaranteed a taunting comment to compliment it. Missandei did not have enough time to look at Margaret’s face, however. One moment she was smirking, the next she was covered in a blanket of snow after Missandei’s snowball had clashed into one of the tree’s snow-covered branches.

The little snowy figure sat there for a moment, as if pondering her entire existence. Then, she let out a surprised yelp when her body reminded her that she was carpeted in layer of freezing coldness.

“Agh! The snow’s gone down my neck!” Margaret spasmed violently as she shook the snow from her body and Missandei was briefly reminded of the time she helped William give Laika a bath.  
The spectacle was oddly endearing.

Missandei emerged from behind the Abbey.

“Let me help you, Meg.”

Missandei sighed when Margaret scrambled for more snow, despite her obvious chill.

“Meg, I’ve raised the white flag; I’m not going to ambush you.”

Margaret dropped her snow and allowed Missandei to bring her to her feet. She swept away at the snow on her shoulders while Missandei fussed with the lump on top of her hat. Missandei readjusted her feather and smiled down to her.

“All better now?”

Margaret paused for a moment, her pouty lips pursed.

“If you raised the white flag, technically that means you forfeited. That means I’m the victor.”

Missandei rolled her eyes but decided not to argue.

“Fair enough, whingebag. Come on, let’s get back to the barracks. I’m freezing.”

Margaret grinned back.

“You don’t have to ask me twice. Someone else can clean up this sodding snow.”

With shovels, work and general consideration for public safety forgotten, Missandei and Margaret returned to the barracks. Night had finally fallen upon the Hamlet, and the two women clutched each other for support as they stumbled over icy paths and meandering roads. The night air was alive with the scent of burning firewood and of spiced drinks from the tavern, a welcome departure from the usual mud and rot.

The Hamlet was truly a different place in the excitement of winter.

When they returned to the barracks, chilled and sodden, Missandei wasted no time in stoking the small fire in the corner of their quarters. Wet outerwear was quickly discarded and replaced with a warm nightgown and a cotton sleeping garments.

The two of them settled on the rug adjacent to the fire, with Margaret draping their patchworked blanket over their shoulders. Missandei pulled her into an embrace, leaving a chaste kiss against her temple. Margaret smiled and leant against her shoulder, eyes closed amid the warmth of the fire.

“Nothing like coming back after a hard day’s work, huh?” She said, and Missandei wrapped her arm over her shoulder.

“Absolutely not,” Missandei pulled the blanket tighter so that it swaddled them, “I’m considering a round two tomorrow though.”

Margaret laughed and shuffled in closer so her face was buried in Missandei’s neck.

“Only if you promise not to forfeit again.”

“I had to forfeit, I didn’t want your loss to be _totally_ humiliating.”

Margaret poked her in the side.

“You know I don’t give up without a fight!”

A soft chuckle escaped Missandei and she caught Margaret by the chin with her thumb and finger. She planted another small kiss at her lips, which was swiftly returned. Missandei possessed an ability to always make Margaret feel warm and loved, even when situations were cold and stressful. Her paradoxical ability to be so strong and hard while also soft and doting had always enthralled Margaret.

Huddled by the fire and enveloped in her embrace, Margaret felt a sensation of contentment wash over her. Lost in her loving daze, she could barely hear the dull thud and irate shouting from outside.

“I think someone just fell over on the path.” Missandei whispered in her ear, a slight twinge of guilt evident there.

“Yeah,” Margaret replied with a notable lack of remorse in her voice. She nestled further into Missandei’s arms and placed her hands on either side of her glowing face.

“I hope it was the Caretaker.” She said as she kissed Missandei again.


End file.
